


Well-Chosen Words

by Anonymous



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004), A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: A little, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Incest, at the end, you could read this platonically or otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 00:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17090783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The elder Baudelaire siblings exchange a few light compliments





	Well-Chosen Words

**Author's Note:**

> takes place during their brief normalcy spell at Uncle Monty's  
> I wrote it after watching the movie but it could be any of the universes.

Klaus wasn’t sure what compelled him to say it. Perhaps it was the sheer relief of being away from that monster Olaf—here with Uncle Monty who seemed, by all appearances, to be a kindly, honorable, competent gentleman. Perhaps it was the fact that he had his _own_ bed for the first time in months. Perhaps it was that he had a full, satisfying meal in his belly. Again, for the first time in months. Perhaps it was that Sunny was snoring away in her crib in the corner, getting the first good night’s sleep she’d gotten in a long while.

Whatever the cause, it slipped out of his mouth. He was shocked at himself. Klaus Baudelaire prided himself on being a cool-headed, rational young man who most certainly did _not_ simply say whatever it was that came into his head.

And yet—he turned to his side and saw Violet sitting at the vanity, softly smoothing out her long, dark hair with that gentle dexterity of hers. The lights were dim. There were only candles to illuminate their spacious, and yet still cozy little bedroom. But it was enough to illuminate his sister’s pale, flushed skin. Her big, luminous eyes. Her full, soft pink lips. Klaus felt his heart do a silly little flip in his chest.

“You know, you look really pretty in that light.”

As soon as he said it he bit down on his tongue. What a tactless thing to say. That wasn’t something a boy should say to his sister out of the blue. Perhaps at a wedding or a graduation or some other event in which girls were supposed to be dressed in all their finery such a compliment was fine or even encouraged, but to proffer it with absolutely no prompting was odd to say the least. It wasn’t that his sister didn’t _deserve_ to know she was pretty, because Violet Baudelaire was a very lovely girl and no one could deny that. And Klaus thought that surely there was nothing wrong with informing his sister how radiant she looked. ‘Radiant’ being a word which here means: “so breathtakingly stunning as to render a poor, besotted, usually articulate young boy near incapable of speech.”

Violet turned around to face her brother, still lying motionless on his bed, regretting opening his mouth. She smiled gently and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, looking all the lovelier for it.

“Thank you, Klaus,” she said in that soft, soothing voice of hers that was almost sometimes nearly able to make her brother and little sister forget the maelstrom of calamities that was their lot in life. “But…” her voice took on a little bit of that teasing aspect that it did when she decided it was time to cause her brother a little playful discomfort. “Are you saying I don’t look pretty in _other_ lighting?”

Klaus was eminently horrified by such a suggestion. Of course that wasn’t his implication. And even if he was quite aware she was joking, he was rather upset by the idea that Violet could _possibly_ believe there was _any_ lighting or context in which she would _not_ be the smartest, kindest, most beautiful girl on earth.

“What? No! I mean—you—you’re always pretty. No matter the light. The light doesn’t matter, actually. If there was less light it wouldn’t make you any less pretty, and if there were more light it wouldn’t make you any more—not that you could get any more pretty, since—“

“Klaus!” Violet said, half-giggling.

He hardly heard her and went on.

“Beauty is subjective after all, and subjectively I think you’re beautiful, though there _have_ been a number of studies that suggest there is a general standard for beauty which applies cross-culturally, but—well, if there _was_ an objective standard for beauty you would rank very high if measured by it, though I suppose me saying that implies there _is_ an objective standard for beauty, which of course y—“

“Klaus! Calm down, really! I’ll have to make you one of those muzzles I made for Sunny when she wouldn’t stop chewing father’s belts, remember?”

“I remember,” Klaus murmured, snapped out of his wild rambling. He did remember, of course, because he remembered each and every one of his brilliant sister’s inventions. He could never forget, because he was always so deeply impressed by the breadth and sheer magnitude of her intelligence. If he was unlucky in so many other things, he was quite fortunate to have such a wonderful and irreplaceable mind by his side now and forever.

Violet ran the brush through her hair one more time. She stood and walked over to her brother. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping she couldn’t catch the deep and angry blush in his cheeks. Of course, Violet proceeded to lean over and very softly and gently plant a kiss on one of those very, very flushed cheeks.

“Well, I think you’re _handsome_ , Klaus Baudelaire,” she said just as softly, and even though she had her own bed she slid onto his and lay down beside him, and put her arm around his waist. He couldn’t help but smile a big, stupid smile out of sheer exuberance. Exuberance is a word which here means: the feeling a young boy gets when a girl he is very fond of tells him he is handsome and then gives him a hug.

“By what objective standard?” Klaus asked. It would be good to make a joke and keep things light.

Violet kissed him on the cheek again, still very softly and still very gently. He felt his face get hotter, but still felt more comfortable than he had in far too long. Like he was home again. Like he was loved and could love again. He wished he could lay here with his dear sister forever, with Sunny just across the room safe and sound, and their uncle Monty just downstairs, hale and healthy and caring.

“ _My_ objective standard,” Violet said with a light giggle. 

If only the door bell hadn’t rung.


End file.
